1989 Nissan Maxima

Not exactly what you would call a beauty. Photo Sourced

 

Like putting lipstick on a pig - Photo CarDomain

It was the first car I bought after the Cherokee was stolen. I went for months just sharing my wife's car (then still just the girlfriend). Her car was a brand new 2002 Nissan Altima and was a beauty to drive. So when I went shopping for cars I was in not much of a hurry to give up my driving privileges in the Altima, but as the school year got busier and we needed the extra set of wheels my hunting began in earnest.

I budgeted about $2,000 dollars, borrowed from work at a rate that would make a loan shark feel faint. This being the new millennium and everything was going virtual with the Internet, I ignored the traditional methods of car shopping and started my search out in cyberspace.

I was new to eBay and after a few days of searching I found an awesome 1992 Mazada Miata that I wanted to bid on. I logged on every day for a week, watching the price climb ever higher and then down to the last few minutes where every bollox Jonesing for a Miata suddenly logged on and put the price through the roof. Fail!

Another couple of days of searching and I came across a 1993 Pontiac Grand Prix GTP. Red with gold wheels, it looked the business. I always had a hard on for this slice of Americana automotive irrelevance, much to my own shame. It's kinda of like admitting to your friends that you do like fat chicks and no it wasn't just because you were drunk.

I kept my cards close to my chest this time and didn't bid to much, too often, I waited until the auction was down to its last few minutes and started bidding closer to my expected price. My newly acquired Internet savvy paid off and I won the auction. A $300 down payment secured my winning bid and I could pick the car up that weekend in El Dorado, Missouri; about two hours south of Kansas City.

Linh was very annoyed that we had to drive so far to collect the car, mostly because just a few weeks before I drove her all the way to St. Joseph to look at a similar car that looked like it just arrived from a demolition derby. But I showed her the pictures of the car and the seller's description and she agreed to drive down with me. God bless her.

After driving forever out into the heart of rural Missouri we pulled up in front of a small used car dealership. I went into the shop with the print-out of my winning bid in my hand and met the man I was going to relieve of one 1993 Pontiac Grand Prix GTP.

He looked friendly, in that six foot five hillbilly way that Missouri country boys possess. He was genuinely excited to meet us and show us THE CAR. We went out the back of the shop and there she was parked in the gravel and mud. From a distance it looked like the pictures on the Internet, but like a mirage it began to dissolve the closer I walked towards it.

The bodywork was terrible, cracks in the spoilers, paint scrapes and broken door mirrors and that was the good news. Inside, and I kid you not, there was mouse shit on the seats, little pellets of poo. Like who the feck sells a car and shows it with mouse shit on the seats? There was what looked like moss growing on the back of the passenger seat and the driver's seat was not affixed. I sat in it and it went all the way back, almost tossing me into the mouse shit in the back seat.

The seller came over with the keys, still genuinely excited, and handed me the keys with the notion that I take it for a test drive with two warnings "smoke comes out of the steering column when you put on the turn signal and the brakes aren't the best."

I could tell from the look on Linh's face that she didn't want to go anywhere in the mouse shit trap and wanted to go straight home. But for some dumb reason I insisted on taking it for a wee drive. We had come all this way after all.

The quick drive affirmed everything we knew was wrong with the car. A small fire in the steering column and plenty of power with no way of stopping. Linh told me to get back to the shop before we killed ourselves.

"So what do you think?" said the big fella now at the front counter of his shop with a weirdly placed wrench on the counter top. He could tell that we were not happy and with the placement of the wrench you could tell he was preemptive in his sales techniques. He knew the car was a sour lemon. Luckily he never had to use the wrench and we spoke civilly, as much a a hillbilly can and we left for KC a few minutes later and he promised to return the down payment. Linh handed me a large bag of "I told you so"s, for the drive home.

After a few days the check wasn't coming and a month of nasty emails ensued, especially after the second place auction highest bidder called me to find out why I didn't take the car. I was honest, even about the mouse shit. Ebay put us in arbitration, but to cut a long story short, I lost my money and gave up on eBay forever.

So I went back to the old fashioned pounding the pavement of used dealerships in the KC Metro area. I saw a lot of shit and met a lot of nice people and saw some great cars and met some people that you wouldn't bring to meet your mother-in-law.

I eventually found my car at a lot half way between the wife's parent's house and Diamond Joe's Strip Club in North Kansas City. It was a gold 1989 Nissan Maxima which left me with a little change from my $2000 budget.

After I bought it I had a friend look it over at his shop and he confirmed my suspicion that the engine was a lot younger than the car and he told me I'd got myself a bargain.

There was a few holes in the body work and I learned how to fill them myself and sealed the spare wheel well and replaced all the bulbs and indicator lights.

The car was perfect for driving up to Park University and over to my job at Pierpont's and the car never gave me a single pause in the years that I owned it. Although, an indicator did blow off the side of the car in high wind (my fault, I didn't seal it after I replaced the bulb.)

After college graduation the car saw less and less drive time, to the point where I took it off the insurance and put it in the garage with a cover over it. I'd covered maybe five thousand miles during the three years that I owned it.

A neighbor heard I had the car stowed away and told his cousin about it. He showed up one day with $1600 cash in his hands and with his lack of English and my lack of Spanish, I wasn't even sure I wanted to sell the car, we made a deal somehow and I was a few dollars richer and no poorer for passing on what was truly an ugly, but sound car.

So, if you cross a Rolls with a Ferrari you get a Nissan Maxima, mmh?

1989 Dodge Colt

Picture sourced from click here

This is what mine looked like, but imagine this car after a drive-by-shooting

This is the Mitsubishi sister car - nice paint swishes

Oh, how the mighty have fallen; it was the fall of 1999 and I was a freshman in college at Park University and not a four-wheeled-internal-combustion-engine to my name. My school year started  back in January and got myself to and from class on either on my trusty blue steed with pedals, completely frozen in the winter months, or caught a ride with some nice kind, caring person. This was a fine way to get about, but now with the addition of a girlfriend who lived exactly 183 miles from my door to her's and I wasn't going to cycle all that way.

The maintenance-man at the Heartland Center was fixing up two old cars for his son and said that one of them was coming up for sale if I was interested. It was a sliver 1989 Dodge Colt, with a four speed manual transmission. I should have said "No, I'd rather keep my sanity" but I really wanted the freedom of having a car: common sense always looses to passion. $800 later I was the proud owner of one dented silver bullet or grocery getter as my American compadres liked to call it.

After the Dodge Colt (re-badged Mitsubishi Colt for the US market) was fixed up, it was pretty reliable, well at least $800 worth of reliability. Except for one or two minor oddities which I discovered the first night the car was in my possession on my first 183 mile, each way, trip to my girlfriends.

The first wasn't too bad: when I put on full beams, the engine cut out. So, I just didn't use full beams, ever. DWS, Driving while squinting, became a terrible habit.

The second was a little more worrisome. Sometimes after coming to a full stop, like at a gas station in Macon, Missouri, at midnight, the car refused to start and I had to jump start it on the fly. Luckily enough, the Colt didn't weight too much and with time I found I could push her, jump in and needed no help.

When I began hearing a funny noise while turning the wheel, and after a few ill-advised midnight trips to see the girlfriend, I took the Colt to Bob at Northland Auto, . He replaced both CV joints and found  I had a bad battery connection and that's why she was cutting out at a stand still. He fixed the CV joints and I found that by rocking the car back and forth, the battery made a good connection and I could be on my merry, scholarly way, never late for school again.

Then the key got stuck in the ignition, so I left it there and carried another in my pocket. Then I had to take her back to Bob at Northland Auto and he put in a new CV arm. That day as I drove it back home, the new CV arm popped out and I had it towed back to his shop.

I collected her the next day, as I had a big date with my girl and I was really excited to spend the whole weekend with her. But just a few miles further than I'd made it the day before, the accelerator pedal stopped working as I was approaching an intersection. I pulled over and popped the hood, flames three feet high attempted to burn my eyebrows off.

I grabbed anything of value out of the car, my school books, my tapes and CDs and I had my blue steed strapped to the rear, so I flung her off into the ditch and stood back waiting for the silver bullet to implode! But a very helpful young off-duty police officer, pulled up along side and casually dosed the flames with his fire extinguisher and called the Fire Department just in case.

Once again towed back to Bob at Northland Auto. A bunch of money later, car rewired, new throttle cable, I was back on the road, but my short lived love affair with this car was over and I had my eye on another.

A friend from school was in need of a cheap car and for a few hundred bucks, I handed over my woes to her with full knowledge of the past few months history. Grocery getter begone!